This poem needs sanding:
The sentences are jagged and protruding
The verbs have burrs
And the nouns are coarse.
This house needs watering:
The foundation is dry and flaking
The walls are brown on the edges
Nothing can grow here anymore.
This job needs to get laid:
Maybe if This Job would get laid it wouldn’t be
such an asshole all the time
This country needs a drill sergeant:
One of those bald, barking maniacs
who will put his chin a few millimeters away
from This Country’s chin
and shout and spit in This Country’s face
“You are lazy, fat and frightened, soldier! Now drop and give me 50!”
This planet needs a condom:
Not more and more babies to soil more and more diapers
to fill more and more landfills.
Hey Planet, wear a jimmy for crissake!
Anyway, as I said, This Poem could use some sanding.